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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22848523">In Sickness</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysticanni/pseuds/mysticanni'>mysticanni</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Smile [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Smile (Band) Era, Vomiting</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 17:28:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,034</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22848523</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysticanni/pseuds/mysticanni</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Brian is ill. Roger and Tim take care of him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Brian May/Tim Staffell/Roger Taylor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Smile [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642495</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Smile Weekend</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>In Sickness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for the 'Illness' prompt for Day Two of Smile Weekend.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Brian was lost.  At least, he had lost Tim and Roger and he felt that amounted to the same thing.  He had never been to this bar before.  It seemed labyrinthine in layout and he could not recall the route they had taken to get from the van in the car-park out the back to the cramped dressing-room (Brian had been surprised by the dressing-room as they usually got changed in the loo) to the small stage.</p><p>He had wandered in the direction he thought Roger and Tim had headed in but had ended up in a small crowded room.  He could not see Roger’s bright hair anywhere.  He looked down as he felt a tug on his sleeve.  A petite person who did not look old enough to be in a bar was looking up at him, eyes magnified hugely by the spectacles they were wearing.  ‘Where are the others?’ the person asked, not trying to hide their disappointment at finding him alone.</p><p>‘Uh...’ Brian wished he knew.  His phone buzzed in his pocket.  That might be one of them now.  ‘I don’t know, sorry.’ </p><p>Another person appeared, taller than Brian’s huge-eyed companion and with vibrant pink hair.  ‘Oh, you found the guitarist,’ this new arrival said approvingly, ‘well done, Liz.’ </p><p>‘He doesn’t know where the others are,’ Liz said mournfully.</p><p>‘Pity,’ the new arrival sighed, ‘no offence, but if you’re gonna fuck anyone in a band it has to be the rhythm section for obvious reasons.’</p><p>Brian, who had been fucking the rhythm section for several months now, couldn’t agree more.  He felt slightly unsure about there being three of them in the relationship though.  Sometimes he wondered if Tim and Roger would be better off without him.  They had such a companionable relationship.  Tim was easy-going and good-natured. Roger sparkled as if he was a sunbeam transformed into a human.  Brian felt that he was the point of friction in their relationship.  Brian was the one nagging Roger to stop smoking or asking Tim to tidy-up after himself.  He sometimes felt like the odd person out.</p><p>He wondered now if Liz and her pink-haired friend intended to stick with him until Tim and Roger appeared.  He was saved from this fate by a stuttering boy (Brian thought he must be getting old: everyone in this place looked underage to him) who wanted to rave about Brian’s guitar playing.  Liz and pink-hair gave up and wandered off.</p><p>Tim appeared behind the stammering youth.  He grinned.  ‘Yeah, Brian’s amazing, isn’t he?  Can I borrow him for a second?’ </p><p>Brian found himself being towed through the crowds out of the back door towards the van.  He shivered as cold air enveloped him. </p><p>‘There you are,’ Roger said, smiling. ‘Not like you to avoid helping to pack the van, Brimi!’</p><p>‘He got lost,’ Tim said, ‘and was way-laid by an enthusiastic fan.’ </p><p>Brian climbed into the passenger seat and watched Roger settle himself in the driver’s seat.  Roger adjusted the seat, grumbling about people with impossibly long legs driving the van, but giving Brian a sweet smile.  Tim clambered in next to Brian and hauled the passenger door shut with a clunk.  Brian felt Tim’s arm snake around his waist and thought that perhaps he was being silly: they did love him.</p><p>He told them about Liz and her friend and their views on fucking the rhythm section.  ‘Did you tell them we are reserved for you?’ Tim asked.</p><p>Roger glanced at Brian quickly, before returning his gaze to the road.  ‘Did you tell them,’ Roger purred, ‘that guitarists with long clever fingers are the real prize?’</p><p>Brian blushed.  Tim ran his thumb along Brian’s cheekbone.  ‘Drive faster, Roggie, so we can show Brian just how much we appreciate him when we get home...’</p><p>*</p><p>One of Tim’s friends from his college art course, who made metal sculptures, had welded together the three single beds in the basement flat Brian, Roger and Tim shared.  They had rented the flat fully furnished.  Brian occasionally thought wistfully of the deposit they had lost.  The bed was worth it though.</p><p>Brian was glad he was sleeping on the outside of the bed, nearest the door, when the stomach cramps started later that night and he had to rush to the bathroom.  ‘Brimi?’ a soft voice murmured.  Brian had been unable to lock the door in his hurry and felt a warm hand rub his back and another hand scoop his hair back from his face as he vomited again.  Citrus and cigarettes: Roger.</p><p>‘Oh,’ Tim’s voice said from behind him.  ‘I’ll get some water.’ </p><p>‘I didn’t mean to wake you,’ Brian muttered. </p><p>‘We know, love,’ Roger assured him, ‘Is it something you’ve eaten, do you think?’ he asked sympathetically.</p><p>‘It’ll be a vomiting bug,’ Tim predicted as he returned with a glass of water.  ‘It’s doing the rounds at college.’ </p><p>Brian managed to sip some water before he had to hang over the toilet bowl again.  ‘Go back to bed,’ he groaned, reflecting that this must be the least sexy sight in the world.  He almost added a command to leave him to die in peace, but decided that might be a little too dramatic.</p><p>Instead of leaving Brian alone to die on the bathroom floor his lovers fetched him woolly socks to keep his feet warm and a blanket to tuck around him, to protect him from the chill of the worn linoleum.  They held his hair back as he vomited, Roger eventually tying it back for him.  They held a glass of water to his lips when he was shaking too badly to hold it.</p><p>When, at a particularly low point, Brian wailed tearfully that he wished the sickness would either kill him or stop (‘I just want it to end, one way or another!’) Roger peppered his face with kisses.  ‘You’ll catch it,’ Brian gasped in horror.</p><p>Roger shrugged.  ‘Then you’ll look after me, won’t you babe? Don’t wish for death, Brimi, we love you and you’re going to make it,’ he told Brian solemnly. </p><p> ‘Dramatic bitch,’ Tim said fondly, stroking Brian’s hair.</p><p>Brian snorted and realised he was feeling marginally better.  ‘If you think I’m dramatic wait until it is Roger’s turn.’</p><p>Eventually he was able to return to bed.  Tim fetched a bucket and placed it next to the bed.  ‘Just in case...’  Roger made him slowly sip a pint glass full of water.  Brian then slept, snuggled up to Roger, who was always in the middle. </p><p>*</p><p>As Brian had fallen ill on a Friday night Roger and Tim were both there to care for him the next day.  ‘Shouldn’t you be opening the stall with Freddie?’ Brian asked Roger.  Roger and his friend Freddie had a market stall.  Roger was currently holding Brian in an upright position so he could sip yet more water.</p><p>‘Freddie’s going to open up on his own,’ Roger said, ‘and the weather is so miserable I don’t reckon it’ll be busy anyway.’  Roger pressed a kiss to the top of Brian’s head.  ‘Besides, you’re more important.’ </p><p>Brian felt both loved and uneasy.  ‘I would have thought when I am this disgusting you two would be running screaming in the other direction.’  He aimed for a joking tone but wasn’t sure he quite succeeded.</p><p>Roger frowned.  ‘In sickness and in health,’ he said firmly.</p><p>Brian wanted to protest that only applied if you were married but Tim appeared, carrying another glass of water, and the moment was lost.</p><p>*</p><p>Brian dozed in bed on Saturday, cuddled by either Roger or Tim or both of them, sipping water and, at thankfully lessening intervals, throwing-up.</p><p>Freddie arrived later in the day, bearing broth his mother had made for Brian.  Brian’s own parents were on holiday and he was grateful for this maternal gesture.  Freddie waved to Brian from the bedroom doorway.  ‘I won’t come any closer, dear, in case you are contagious.’</p><p>The food parcel (Brian suspected Tim and Roger had received goodies other than broth) was really because Freddie’s mother had kind of adopted Roger.  Brian’s own mother was fond of Roger too.  Brian sometimes thought his mother liked Roger more than she liked him.</p><p>He had discussed Roger’s knack of securing maternal adoration over a cup of tea at their kitchen table with Tim once while Roger was visiting his actual mother (‘My own mother likes Freddie best,’ Roger had told Brian).  ‘Roger is charming, I suppose,’ Brian mused, dunking a digestive biscuit in his tea.</p><p>Tim conceded that Roger was charming.  ‘I think he has a kind of...  I don’t know how to describe it...  I think the mothers think he needs to be looked after.’ </p><p>‘He does need to be looked after,’ Brian said, nibbling his soggy biscuit.</p><p>‘See, you have picked up on that quality about him too,’ Tim noted, ‘Roger is completely capable of surviving on his own, but he has this... this... lost kitten thing that makes people go: aw, sweet little thing needs to be looked after.’ </p><p>Brian frowned.  ‘I wouldn’t describe Roger as completely capable.’ </p><p>Tim grinned.  ‘He is, though.  He’s just fooled you by appearing to be a little lost kitten.’  Tim rustled a biscuit from the pack.  ‘Roger lived perfectly successfully on his own before he moved in with us,’ he pointed out.  ‘He makes people want to protect him.  I mean, he doesn’t do it on purpose,’ he said, ‘I don’t think he has a clue that he has that effect on people.’</p><p>Brian sniffed.  ‘Well, if by living successfully alone you mean that he hadn’t actually poisoned himself or electrocuted himself...’  He took another biscuit.  ‘And you’re immune to his ‘lost kitten-ness’ are you?’ he added.</p><p>‘I think it appeals to the nurturing side of people,’ Tim reflected, ‘so I guess you’re just more maternal than I am.’ </p><p>Brian snorted.  ‘Well, excuse me for wanting to look after my boyfriend.’</p><p>‘I’m your boyfriend too,’ Tim pointed out, batting his eyelashes at Brian.</p><p>Brian leaned over to plant an awkward, sloppy, kiss on Tim’s cheek.  ‘I’ll look after you, too, love,’ he said.</p><p>‘I know,’ Tim grinned, ‘you can start by making another pot of tea.’ </p><p>*</p><p>Brian considered that conversation now as Roger scrambled off the bed to clean the basin Brian had just vomited into.  Roger was more practical (and less squeamish) than Brian would have given him credit for (Brian wondered uneasily if he would be too squeamish to look after Roger in a similar fashion if he became ill).  ‘You’re more than just a pretty face,’ he murmured when Roger returned. </p><p>Roger snorted.  ‘It doesn’t take a massive amount of talent to rinse out a bucket, Brian.’ </p><p>‘You ‘n’ Tim ‘ve been so good to me,’ Brian sniffled. </p><p>‘Aw, gorgeous, don’t cry,’ Roger stroked Brian’s hair, ‘We’ll always look after you.’ </p><p>*</p><p>By Sunday afternoon Brian had stopped being sick and managed to keep down some broth.  He didn’t have any classes scheduled for Monday so stayed in the flat, recovering.</p><p>Roger had Monday morning classes and Tim had classes in the afternoon so they took it in turns to be with Brian.  It was, he thought, almost worth being ill to be the centre of such devoted attention.</p><p>Nestled between Roger and Tim on Monday evening, Brian said, ‘I’m so lucky to have you guys.  Once I’m feeling completely better I’m gonna take you both out somewhere nice to eat; my treat.’ </p><p>‘You don’t have to do that,’ Tim said.</p><p>‘No,’ Roger agreed, ‘we’d be pretty crap boyfriends if we hadn’t looked after you.’ </p><p>‘I want to celebrate how great you both are,’ Brian said, blushing slightly. </p><p>‘Well, I never say no to a night out,’ Roger laughed. </p><p>Tim was looking carefully at Brian.  ‘You do know we love you, don’t you, Bri?’ </p><p>Roger hugged Brian.  ‘I love you,’ he murmured.  He released Brian and reached across him to rumple Tim’s hair, ‘And I love you, too, Timmy.’ </p><p>‘Yeah,’ Brian said softly, ‘I know.’  He did not add that he loved them too, although he felt it strongly at that moment.</p><p>Loving them didn’t prevent him being secretly slightly annoyed when neither of them got his illness.</p>
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